Sealed With a Loving Kiss

by Ellie Dean

  ‘I’ll bloody well swear at you as much as I fucking want,’ he yelled, his fist hovering within inches of her face. ‘What did you do with the fags?’

  ‘I burned them,’ she replied as she kept a wary eye on that fist and managed to wriggle out of the corner. He was perfectly capable of hitting her, for he’d done it before, a long time ago. ‘You should be grateful I didn’t go straight to the police. Because I had every right to, you rat! How dare you use my place for your black-market carrying on after you promised to stay on the right side of the law?’

  Tommy was white with rage. ‘Grateful? Grateful?’ He moved to cut off her escape through the door. ‘Do you realise that those fags and bottles of booze would have set me up so I didn’t have to rely on you for everything? Do you realise,’ he continued as he jabbed a tobacco-stained finger at her face, ‘that they were my insurance to pay off my bastard debts and get straight again?’

  Rosie was no longer cowering, for her temper was up and she refused to be browbeaten any longer by her bullying, foul-mouthed brother. She slapped away the jabbing finger and gave him a hard shove in the chest that sent him stumbling back.

  ‘And do you realise that you’ve put my home and business at risk?’ she stormed. ‘I don’t care what you planned to do with the money. It wouldn’t have changed anything. You still would have been up to all your old tricks – lying and cheating and making everyone’s lives a misery.’

  ‘I had people waiting for that consignment,’ he shouted. ‘What am I supposed to do now? Eh? Eh?’ The jabbing finger once again pointed at her chest.

  Rosie grasped his wrist and gave it a sharp twist. She was strong from years of pulling pints, lifting barrels and sorting out drunks, and she felt a modicum of victory as he yelped in pain. ‘It’s your mess, you clean it up.’

  He cradled his injured wrist. ‘But they paid a deposit, and I don’t have the money any more,’ he whined.

  ‘Tough,’ said Rosie. ‘And don’t think you can come to me to bail you out, because I’ve had enough, Tommy. You’re on your own this time.’

  He was ashen now, the anger replaced by something far deeper and more dangerous. ‘But they’re not the sort to cross. And I could be in serious trouble, you stupid cow. And it’s all your fault, you stupid, stupid bitch. You owe me, Rosie, and I won’t take no for an answer.’

  Rosie eyed him coldly, aware that the mood had changed and if she wasn’t careful she’d find herself giving in to him once again to protect herself from the violence she knew he was more than capable of meting out. But her fury was all-encompassing and she was incapable of keeping her mouth shout. ‘Who are these people you owe money to? More low-lifes? Other spivs?’

  ‘Blokes I do business with – and they won’t take this lightly, believe you me.’

  Rosie glared at him and didn’t feel one ounce of sympathy. ‘Well, you can tell Cyril Fielding that there’s no money and no more deals. And if you get beaten up, then it’s your own …’

  She fell silent as the colour drained from his face and he had to grip the narrow table to keep his balance. ‘God Almighty, Tommy,’ she breathed. ‘What have you got yourself into this time? Who is this Fielding?’

  He shook his head as if trying to clear away the shock and sank down into a kitchen chair. ‘How do you know about Fielding?’ he rasped.

  Rosie felt a pang of alarm. Tommy was clearly shaken to the core, and she’d never seen him so distraught. ‘It doesn’t matter how I know about him,’ she said dismissively as her thoughts whirled. ‘Who is he and what sort of trouble have you got us both into?’

  His smile was sickly and didn’t reach his eyes. ‘No one,’ he replied. ‘No one you need to be scared of, anyway.’ His hands trembled as he lit a cigarette. ‘Who told you about Fielding?’ he asked as he sucked in smoke.

  Rosie frowned, wary that Tommy might be laying some kind of trap which could embroil other people in his shenanigans. ‘Does it matter?’

  He seemed to have regained his equilibrium, for his hand no longer shook and his expression was unreadable. ‘I don’t like it when other people pry into my private business,’ he muttered darkly. ‘And Fielding is part of that business which I need to keep quiet.’ His arctic glare pierced right through her. ‘Who was it?’

  Rosie knew then she would never tell him, for Peggy wasn’t a part of this and needed to be protected. ‘I can’t remember,’ she said flatly. ‘And even if I could, I doubt I’d tell you, because you’ve caused enough trouble, and there’s no knowing where it might lead.’

  She regarded him evenly as she folded her arms. ‘Who is this man? And why does he have to be such a secret?’

  He smoked his cigarette in silence, his gaze narrowed and fixed on a distant point over her shoulder as he thought how to answer her.

  The tense silence was so great she could actually hear the blood coursing through her veins and feel it reverberate in her skull. ‘Don’t even think about lying to me this time,’ she warned. ‘Because if you do, and I find out, then you can pack your bags and take your chances out there on your own.’

  He seemed to consider this for a moment and then gave a deep sigh. ‘He was someone I invented a long, long time ago,’ he admitted.

  This was not what she’d expected to hear and she stared at him as she slowly sank onto the other chair. ‘Invented? But why?’

  ‘I had an insurance scam going, and because it was conducted by post and in advertisements in the paper with a Post Office box number, no one knew that Cyril was really me.’ He looked at her speculatively. ‘Was it Ron who told you?’

  ‘Why should it be Ron?’ she asked defensively.

  ‘Because he somehow found out about Cyril just as the scam was starting to bring in a good wedge of money, and we had a set-to.’ He flicked cigarette ash carelessly onto the scrubbed linoleum floor. ‘He threatened to tell the cops, so I had to leave town for a long while after that – which lost me a lot of money.’

  Rosie quickly tried to work out how long ago that could have been, but it was almost impossible, for Tommy often disappeared for months, even years, on end – sometimes at his own volition, but more often to serve time in prison. ‘When was this?’

  He regarded her coldly. ‘I told you. A long time ago – eighteen years – maybe more.’ He took a breath. ‘So, was it Ron?’

  ‘No, absolutely not,’ she said truthfully.

  He nodded. ‘I believe you, because you never could tell a lie, even as a kid.’ He smoked and flicked more ash onto the floor. ‘If it wasn’t Ron, then it must have been Mary Jones,’ he said eventually.

  ‘Mary?’ she gasped in horror. ‘What on earth could Mary have to do with all this?’

  ‘She’s been asking around about Cyril.’

  Rosie couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and it took a moment to get her thoughts together. ‘But why? She’s new to the town and far too young to have ever heard of Cyril – who, in fact, never really existed.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said grimly. ‘But she’s definitely been asking about him, because Eileen overheard her in the tea rooms. I even got Eileen to approach her to try and find out why, but the girl clammed up and wouldn’t say.’

  ‘You got Eileen involved?’ She felt a deep chill and had to wrap her arms tightly about her waist to keep herself from trembling.

  He looked at her then. ‘I had no other choice,’ he said flatly. ‘You, Peggy and Ron were following my every move and I knew I didn’t dare approach the girl to ask her myself. It’s obvious she doesn’t know that Cyril and I are the same person, and if I’d said anything to her, it could have opened up a whole can of worms.’

  A prickle of dread ran up her spine. ‘How? Why?’

  ‘There’s the possibility that one of her family was someone I sold those dodgy insurances to, and I couldn’t risk her going to the law once she discovered the truth.’

  Rosie shivered as she remembered his strange, persistent interest in Mary, his questions about her and the
way he watched her as he worked behind the bar. It all made sense now – but that was the least of her worries, for Tommy was like a terrier when he was after something, and she knew he wouldn’t just let this go.

  She saw that he was watching her closely, expecting some reaction from her. ‘You and the truth have been strangers for many years, Tommy. It would serve you right if all your past sins came home to roost.’

  Tommy rolled his eyes. ‘So says the woman who’s carrying on with another man while her husband rots in a mental asylum,’ he said sarcastically. ‘How does it feel up there on your sanctimonious mountain, Rosie?’

  ‘Don’t you dare use my private life to justify your filthy carrying-on,’ she snapped. ‘And stop putting ash on my clean floor.’

  Tommy meekly reached across for a saucer. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘That was unfair after all you’ve done for me.’

  Rosie nodded acceptance, but she was immediately wary, for Tommy rarely apologised for anything unless he wanted something. She watched him as he stubbed the butt out in the saucer. Her main priority now was to protect Mary, and to try to persuade him to leave her alone.

  He looked back at her speculatively. ‘I don’t suppose you could ask Mary why she’s looking for Cyril?’ he said. ‘Only you seem to have taken her under your wing and she trusts you.’

  ‘It’s because she trusts me that I’ll say nothing to her whatsoever. She hasn’t mentioned a word of any of this to me, and I’ve heard absolutely no gossip about it at all. It seems she’s either forgotten all about it, or decided not to continue her search for Cyril. Either way, it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.’

  He glowered at her and she took a deep breath. ‘Frankly, Tommy, I’ve done you enough favours, and you should be worrying more about the man you owe money to than young Mary.’

  ‘Then I’ve no alternative but to ask her myself,’ he said grimly. ‘I’ll get the truth out of her and make sure she keeps her trap shut in future.’

  ‘No,’ she snapped in alarm. ‘You leave Mary alone. She’s just an innocent girl, and I won’t have you frightening her.’

  They sat and stared at one another and the silence became heavier, the tension growing between them.

  As it grew unbearable, Rosie was forced to accept that she really had no choice in the matter if Mary was to be kept safe. ‘All right,’ she sighed. ‘But I’ll do it in my own way and in my own time. You’ll just have to be patient.’

  His scowl lifted immediately into a beaming smile. ‘That’s my girl. Now, there’s the small matter of the money you owe me for the fags and booze.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘My buyer’s expecting me at one, so you’ve just got time to run down to the bank before we open.’

  Rosie pushed back the chair and smoothed her skirt over her hips. ‘Hell will freeze over before I give you another penny,’ she said flatly. ‘And don’t even think about trying to find my bank book or my savings, I’ve given them to Peggy to look after.’

  The smile faded and the scowl returned. ‘I need the money, and if I don’t get it, they won’t just stop at giving me a hiding. They’ll come here, and you’ll be sorry, Rosie. Very sorry indeed.’

  But Rosie was not to be cowed – not this time – never again. ‘If one single thing in this place is damaged then you’ll never find out why Mary was looking for Cyril – and the police will get to hear about your latest scam. Lie down with dogs, Tommy, and all you’ll get is fleas.’

  She walked out of the kitchen with her head high despite the hammering of her heart, and went downstairs to the bar. It was almost eleven and she had a pub to run.

  Mary had stayed the night at Beach View after the long session in the Anchor, and as she had the day off, she was luxuriating in the all-too-rare chance of a lie-in. Unlike Fran and the others, she hadn’t drunk more than a few sips of beer at midnight to welcome in the New Year, so she wasn’t suffering from a hangover. But she rather hoped that Fran wasn’t feeling the effect of all those gins Robert had bought her last night, for they were due to play at Doris’s charity concert this afternoon.

  Mary smiled to herself as she thought about Robert and Fran, and how the shy, awkward young man had begun to blossom now Fran had finally taken notice of him, and they’d discovered just how much they had in common.

  She eventually washed and dressed and went downstairs with her overnight bag, to find both Fran and Rita nursing cups of tea and looking very wan. ‘Oh, dear,’ she sighed in sympathy. ‘Is it very bad?’

  ‘Ach, to be sure, me head’s splitting, so it is,’ moaned Fran.

  ‘Mine isn’t much better,’ grumbled Rita, ‘and I’ll get it in the neck if my boss sees me like this.’ She glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece and groaned. ‘Only another hour to go and I have to be on duty. I’m never drinking again, I swear.’

  ‘You should have a constitution like mine,’ chirped Cordelia, who was preparing vegetables for tonight’s supper. ‘I had five sherries and a glass of champagne, and feel as chipper and bright as a sparrow.’

  ‘Lucky you,’ sighed Fran. ‘I feel like death warmed up.’

  Mary helped herself to the last of the porridge, poured a cup of tea and sat down. ‘Where’re all the others?’

  ‘Peggy’s gone next door to help old Mrs Black pack the last of her things. She’s moving down to Devon to live with her daughter now she’s finding it hard to cope on her own,’ said Rita. ‘Ron went out before we came down, and I suspect he’s gone to the Anchor. Jane and Sarah are both at work, though how they managed it after last night, I’ll never know.’

  ‘They have the same constitution as me,’ said Cordelia with pride. ‘It’s in the family blood, you know.’

  ‘The only thing running through my veins this morning is gin,’ said Fran as she dragged herself to her feet. ‘I’m going for a bath, and will meet you at the hall at half one.’

  Mary gave her a gentle hug. ‘Just don’t be late,’ she warned softly. ‘You know what our illustrious conductor is like about time-keeping.’

  ‘To be sure, I’ll be there in body, if not in spirit. Will ye not fret, Mary?’

  Mary smiled as Fran drifted out of the kitchen and slowly climbed the stairs. She had no worries about her not turning up, for she was reliable to a fault, and would no doubt be as animated and bright as always once she’d had time to recover. It never failed to astonish her how quickly the other girls could revive after downing so much alcohol – but as the taste and smell repelled her, she wasn’t at all tempted to follow suit despite all the teasing she had to take about her endless glasses of lemonade and cups of tea.

  ‘I’d better get washed and ready for work,’ said Rita with great reluctance. ‘Good luck this afternoon, Mary, although I’m sure you don’t need it.’ She pushed back her chair and ran her fingers through her untidy mop of dark curls. ‘Matthew’s coming over tonight if he’s back in time from his latest raid on Jerry, so I really do have to sort myself out.’ She gave Mary a wan smile and headed for her bedroom.

  ‘Will you be all right, Grandma Finch?’ Mary asked with some concern as the sharp, flashing knife cut through the vegetables and missed the tiny fingers by a gnat’s whisker.

  ‘Oh, I shan’t be all night, dear. Not after the late one I had yesterday.’

  ‘Would you like some help preparing the parsnips? They look a bit tough, and that knife is very sharp.’

  ‘Help with the parson?’ Cordelia frowned. ‘What parson are you talking about, dear? I’m sure he might have a few rough edges, but if he can play the harp, then he can’t be all bad.’ She smiled beatifically. ‘I do so like to hear the harp when it’s well played, don’t you?’

  Mary laughed. ‘I certainly do.’ She gently took the knife and, ignoring Cordelia’s mild protest, quickly finished off the vegetables before there was a nasty accident. ‘There, that’s all done, now I’d better get back to Havelock Road and do a bit of practice before the concert.’

  ‘Yes, it was fun, wasn’t it? But it didn’t loo
k to me as if you needed any practice, dear. That was all most efficient.’ Cordelia settled happily into her chair and picked up her knitting. ‘You’d better run along, or you’ll be late for the concert. I am looking forward to it, you know, and so is Bertram.’

  Mary had yet to meet Bertram Grantley-Adams, but she’d heard all about him from Peggy, and thought it rather sweet that two elderly people had found such a lovely companionship so late in life. ‘Thank you,’ she replied, and, before she could get into any more convoluted conversations, took her leave.

  She arrived back at Havelock Road and obediently took off her shoes and hung her coat on the rack before going upstairs. As she reached the landing she heard noises coming from her bedroom and was surprised that Ivy was at home, for she was supposed to be at work until five. Yet, as she opened the door, it was not Ivy who was digging about in the wardrobe.

  ‘Mrs Williams, what are you doing in here?’ she asked sharply.

  Doris didn’t seem at all fazed at being caught poking about in other people’s intimate belongings. ‘I needed to find out if you had anything suitable to wear for the concert,’ she said as she continued to rummage through the wardrobe. ‘With so many very important people attending, it’s vital you don’t let the side down.’

  Mary crossed the room, noting the open drawers which had clearly been rifled through. She reached past Doris and pulled out her black dress. ‘I think you’ll find this is perfect for the occasion,’ she said coolly. She closed the wardrobe doors firmly and hooked the hanger over the handle.

  ‘I have asked Fran to wear something respectable for a change,’ said Doris. ‘If she turns up looking like a ragamuffin, that black skirt and white blouse in the wardrobe will have to do.’

  ‘Those are Ivy’s and would be far too short and tight for Fran,’ she replied with some asperity. ‘Was there anything else you wanted to look at? Or have you seen enough?’

  Doris stood tall, her chin lifted in defiance. ‘There is no need to use that tone with me, girl,’ she said stiffly. ‘I have every right to come in here. This is my home and you are only here under sufferance. If there was any justice in the billeting rules you’d be elsewhere, and I must say I’m appalled at the state of untidiness in here, and the lack of decent underwear between you.’